Ther' 's critters yit thet talk an' act
Fer wut they call Conciliation;
They'd hand a buff'lo-drove a tract
When they wuz madder than all Bashan.
Conciliate? it jest means _be kicked_,
No metter how they phrase an' tone it;
It means thet we're to set down licked,
Thet we're poor shotes an' glad to own it!
A war on tick's ez dear'z the deuce,
But it wun't leave no lastin' traces,
Ez't would to make a sneakin' truce
Without no moral specie-basis:
Ef green-backs ain't nut jest the cheese,
I guess ther' 's evils thet's extremer,--
Fer instance,--shinplaster idees
Like them put out by Gov'nor Seymour.
Last year, the Nation, at a word,
When tremblin' Freedom cried to shield her,
Flamed weldin' into one keen sword
Waitin' an' longin' fer a wielder:
A splendid flash!--an' how'd the grasp
With sech a chance ez thet wuz tally?
Ther' warn't no meanin' in our clasp,--
Half this, half thet, all shilly-shally.
More men? More Man! It's there we fail;
Weak plans grow weaker yit by lengthenin':
Wut use in addin' to the tail,
When it's the head's in need o' strengthenin'?
We wanted one thet felt all Chief
From roots o' hair to sole o' stockin',
Square-sot with thousan'-ton belief
In him an' us, ef earth went rockin'!
Ole Hick'ry wouldn't ha' stood see-saw
'Bout doin' things till they wuz done with,--
He'd smashed the tables o' the Law
In time o' need to load his gun with;
He couldn't see but jest one side,--
Ef his, 'twuz God's, an' thet wuz plenty;
An' so his "_Forrards_!" multiplied
An army's fightin' weight by twenty.
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